


Touchstones

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Without Reservations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Aftermath ofWithout Reservations. The team wait for Face to wake up in the hospital. Written from Murdock's point of view.





	Touchstones

**Author's Note:**

> This episode swirls around Murdock. I noticed how Face addresses Murdock a couple of times when injured, but Murdock doesn't answer him. And then when Hannibal arrives, Murdock comes undone a little and confesses how guilty he feels.
> 
> There's one small moment in the episode where Face reaches for Murdock as Murdock leaves to go back into the restaurant, and that's what inspired this story. Constructive criticism would be awesome.

I always thought we were invincible

_“How bad is it?”_

I always thought _he_ was invincible

" _I'm cold, Murdock, I'm so cold”_

I got sloppy, I got careless. I forgot that the real world has rules after all.

* * *

They took Face's suit, put him in a hospital gown. White. Why'd they choose white? That's the worst colour to choose, shows up every speck of dirt, every stain of blood. 

He's unconscious. I want to pretend he's sleeping, like Hannibal is over there in the corner, but he's not 'cause I tried to wake him just now and he wouldn't wake up. Plus his body language is all wrong. I know how the Faceman looks when he sleeps; he sleeps on his side, curled up with his arms over his head. He's sensitive about it; he'd rather sleep like Hannibal, stiff as a board, a true soldier on his back, or like BA, relaxed and snoring with his head mashed into the pillow. Me; I sleep hanging upside down from the rafters. At least, it feels like I do.

I like watching Face sleep 'cause I know it's really him. He can't pretend in his sleep.

But like I said, he's not sleeping now, he's unconscious. He may as well be dead, he sure looks like it. And you can't tell anything about dead men.

* * *

His hospital gown is bothering me; it's too thin. Face likes his layers - suits, jumpers, body warmers. He wants to look bigger than he is. The kind of clothes I wear give me a sense of movement, of freedom, but for him they're all about protection.

I thought the suit would protect him in the restaurant, like Superman in reverse; when Faceman gets dressed up, that's his armour, that's his superhero costume. It can help get him anything, help him scam anyone. I thought it could even repel bullets.

* * *

The heart rate monitor increases and Faceman's eyelids start to flutter. He's surfacing.

I stand up too quickly, wait for the floor to stop tilting and then I go to wake Hannibal. I put a hand gently on Hannibal's shoulder and he opens his eyes instantly. I look over at the bed and Hannibal understands.

I leave them to it and nearly run into BA on my way out the door but I duck my head and keep going. I need to be out _there_. 

* * *

 

The hospital has a garden. I slump on a wooden bench. A few ghosts float around the bushes, tethered to the earth by their IV stands. The air is fresh. No smell of blood here.

It was all over the floor of BA's van. 

One of the ghosts sits down next to me. It doesn't say anything but offers me a cigarette. I take it, not to smoke but because the cigarette contains an elemental substance and it will help keep me anchored to the real world. I don't want to float away like the ghosts.

I hear BA coming before he even says anything, his heavy tread crunching on the gravel.

“Hey man,” he says, “Face is asking for you.”

I don't respond. My ghostly friend drifts away, scared by BA's presence no doubt, and BA takes his seat.

“Didn't you hear me?” 

I hold the cigarette up to my eyes. The breeze makes the fire glow and sends ash dancing into the air.

Suddenly BA's fist is there, scrunching up the cigarette and throwing it onto the ground. I brace myself for his usual tirade but he doesn't say anything. I sneak a look at him and see that he is far away, watching the ghosts. So I settle back and watch them too. 

After a while he says, “Don't feel bad, man. It's not your fault.”

I suddenly want my cigarette back, but it is crushed on the gravel.

“It was just real bad luck, Murdock.”

His use of my name makes me blink. BA is entirely real and entirely grounded and somehow his being here keeps me grounded too.

“Come on, fool,” he says, standing up, and I stand up too and follow him.

* * *

When we get to Face's room my steps falter and BA is there again, grabbing my arm and propelling me through the door. Hannibal is standing next to Face's bed, leaning over him, talking to him softly, and when he hears us come in he looks up and gives me a smile that I haven't seen since this whole thing started. It is a smile of relief.

BA and Hannibal move back and I go sit down next to Face again. Face is awake but his eyes are having trouble focusing, like some of the VA guys when they're on the good stuff. I look to the side of the bed and see the morphine pump.

“Murdock,” he breathes, and somehow he manages to reach across and grab the collar of my jacket. The weight of it pulls me down towards him. It reminds me of the restaurant, all the times I bent over him, checking his pulse, his face and body contorted into sharp angles.

“Faceman,” I say, stuttering slightly, and then I start unburdening myself of all the things I wanted to say to him that night; _Faceman, I'm real sorry you got shot, I'm real sorry I didn't see that other guy, I'm real sorry I made you come to the restaurant in the first place -_

but then Hannibal gets my attention, “Uh, Captain?” and I look up to see that Face is unconscious again. No, not unconscious; his hand is still gripping my jacket.

Asleep, then.

I guess he didn't need an apology after all. He just needed me.

* * *

I should really try and break his grip because I'm hunched over at an odd angle and my neck's starting to go tingly but I can't bring myself to.

One of the guys, I don't know which one, solves my problem by putting a pillow underneath me so I can lay my head down. The pillow is so soft it makes me want to weep.

As I close my eyes, Face's hand wrapped around my jacket collar, the last thing I am aware of is a pressure on my shoulder, a solid, heavy presence, before it all fades away and I am swept up into the black.

 

_Finis_

 


End file.
